FACEMAN IS GONE
by Gage39
Summary: Face leaves again but is it permanent this time?


FACEMAN IS GONE

The first time he walked out the door we were upset but he came back.

When he said he was leaving again we thought he was joking; that he would come back like he had last time. But he didn't. He packed his bag, said his goodbyes, and just walked out. We all expected him to return. Hannibal even sat up half the night waiting but he never returned.

One day went by; Hannibal was convinced he was on his way back.

Two days; he had been delayed.

Three days; he had been arrested (B.A. vetoed that idea saying that if he had Stockwell would have already told us).

Soon a month had gone by and we had to accept the inevitable. Face was gone and he was never coming back.

The first time he left he came back, not once but twice. I guess that's why we all thought he would come back. So we didn't make a big deal out of it.

Face told us over hamburgers and milkshakes that he was leaving. Hannibal just nodded and said 'Okay.'

I think that hurt Face more than anything. I think he expected us to make a big deal out of it, fuss about him leaving. The fact that we were so nonchalant about it must have cut pretty deep. We were so used to Face making a big deal out of everything that it never occurred to us that he might really be hurting underneath that flashy smile of his.

I watched him pack his bags that night, not even noticing that the only weapons he had packed were his .357 Magnum and his sniper rifle. The fact that he packed only a few suits encouraged me, I thought it meant he was coming back-I didn't realize that he was just packing light.

I joked about taking his room; he just looked at me and smiled. Not that flashy smile he used on cons but one that I rarely saw, the one that said he was just barely holding on. For a moment I felt frightened but the moment passed. If I could go back I would have ran over to him and hugged him tighter than anyone had ever hugged him before. But I didn't.

He left early the next morning. I got up and watched him sneak past the guards; watched him until he was just a blur then I used the binoculars until I couldn't see him at all. Then I went into the kitchen and made enough eggs and bacon for five, thinking he would be back before B.A. was through with his first gallon of milk. He never showed. His food sat on the plate, getting colder and colder. Frankie wanted to throw it out but I refused. I said Face would back. I knew my Faceman after all. I knew he would be back.

He didn't come back. Finally we accepted the inevitable. I moved into Face's room and put my stuff in his drawers. But I didn't touch the closet that still held the suits. Getting rid of them would have made Face's disappearance seem so…permanent. As long as they were there I could still pretend that I was only borrowing his room for a few days, that any minute he would walk through the door and tell me to get my junk out of his dresser.

At night I would lay in the bed and if I was very still I could hear Face's even breathing, see those blue eyes blinking owlishly at me when I got up in the morning or smell his cologne in the bathroom.

Face called once and that was just to leave an 'I'm fine' message on the machine while we were out.

I've been thinking about why Faceman came back the first time. He could have left last time after helping us take the bad guys down. I don't think he came back because he missed the excitement but because he knew we cared. That's probably why he hasn't come back yet. He doesn't think we care anymore. I wish I could tell him how wrong he is. Tell him that we do care very much.

I want to go back. I would love to go back to the days before Stockwell and before all this happened. Face never would have left if it hadn't been for all this. But if I can't go back to then perhaps I could go back to the day Face was packing. Maybe if I had gotten down on my knees and begged him to stay he would never have gone. Maybe if I had run after him when he walked out…

I want Faceman to come home.


End file.
